Scars
by framesonthewall
Summary: Howard was in that asylum for days before the Howling Commandos saved him. This story is open for requests.
1. Chapter 1: Aftermath

Steve made sure to walk noisily down the steps of the stairs to Howard's lab. It was something he had trained himself to do since they had gotten Howard back from that horrible place.  
He shuddered at the memory of all the blood. There had been so much of it, splattered across every surface and words written with blood on the wall by the inmates. He could remember starkly all the broken people they had seen. His grip on his shield tightened painfully.

The image of Howard crouching, snarling and covered in blood and guts, with a knife in one hand and a gun in the other was clearest in his mind. Four dead men had been lying at his feet. Wounds had covered his body. The skin had been stripped from his left shoulder, the flash under it had been pink and gleaming and bleeding sluggishly. Howard had cried when he had seen Steve, knife and gun slipping from suddenly slack fingers

Steve stepped into Howard's sanctuary, his lab, and froze. Slowly he raised his hands up in a non-threatening gesture.  
"It's me, Howard. It's Steve." he said and kept his voice calm, as harmless as his body-posture.

The screwdriver was lowered a bit and then clattered to the table as the tool slipped from his hand and Howard placed both of his hands on the tabletop, just breathed with his head hanging between raised shoulders. Defensive and embarrassed.

His whole body was trembling.

"I know who you are, Steve." Howard murmured. His voice was blank.

Steve carefully moved closer without replying. He had learned the hard way not to startle Howard. Thankfully the stab wound had healed over by now.

Steve let his gaze roam over Howard, assessing the state he was in. There were good days and bad days.

The burn on Howard's forearm had healed, leaving a ragged scar.

The paleness of his skin and the absence of two of his fingers were stark against the surface of the table.

"Howard, do you want to come upstairs?" Steve touched Howard's shoulder and pressed along his back. Maybe they could sit at the pool. The sun was out today and the darkness of the lab felt oppressing to Steve.

Howard leaned into him and sighed.

"No."

"Do you want me to leave?" Steve asked and pressed a quick peck to Howard's shoulder through the fabric of his shirt.

"No." Howard turned his head and pressed the side of his face against Steve's, something he rarely did. He was not a man of open affection.

"Okay." Steve said and moved over to the couch Howard sometimes slept on when the openness of the house was too much and only his lab with the heavy steel enforced door made him feel safe.

Steve sunk down in the leather cushions and made himself comfortable. On the low table beside the couch was the book he had left there the other time. He flipped to the page he had left of and began to read.

Steve made sure to keep his shield visible. That made Howard feel safer as well.


	2. Chapter 2: The Asylum

Howard cursed when another inmate went at him, hands aiming for his neck. There was something to be said that it wasn't a pipe this time. He drove the butt of the gun into the man's face, breaking his nose, and jumped past him, running down the corridor. Whoever had experimented on those men had made them strong, stronger than any normal human being should be.

His hands hurt where the dear doctor had cut of one finger of each of his hands. How was he still supposed to bring his ideas to life with only 8 fingers? If he made it out of here alive at all.

Blood dripped from the open wounds to the floor. His shoulder, where the skin had been stripped from his flesh bled sluggishly. Even if he found a way, even if he made it out of this hellhole his only means of survival were to reach a hospital as fast as possible. Would he even be able to pick up his tools again? Build things?

Maybe he would only be able to invent on paper, a pathetic thought, and others would have to build what his mind imagined. A hysterical laugh bubbled out of him and he didn't look over his shoulder where he could hear multiple the footsteps running after him.

His grip tightened around the knife in one and the gun in the other hand. The metal was slick, slipping in Howard's hands.

The exit wasn't far away from his current position, map almost burned into his mind's eye.

He rounded a corner and snarled when he saw another inmate waiting at its end. Why were there suddenly so many? And all in pursuit of him? Who had sent them after him?

His steps didn't slow, instead a bang echoed from the walls and an inmate's brain matter splattered over the corridor, mixing with the existing guts and blood that permeated the whole building, making Howard's stomach turn but there was no time to retch.

Howard jumped over the still body and rushed into the hall. He nearly sobbed in relief when he finally saw the exit loom up ahead. Finally!

A body barreled into his side and he went crashing to the floor.

Quickly he scrambled to his feet, ignoring the pain he was in, as he had done for quite some time, and ducked the swing the man aimed at him.

With a cry he brought the knife around in a cut off arc and sunk it into flesh, cutting through it with a dull, sickening sound.

Arms wrapped around him from behind and lifted him off the floor and threw him to the ground again, jarring his already cracked ribs. Howard panted and gasped for breath but still fired of a shot, killing another one of his attackers. Someone really wanted him dead now, so close to the exit. So close to freedom.

The other inmate, even more where entering the room, roared in anger and skipped back, away from Howard while he scrambled to his feet a second time. There was no thought in those men's heads. They were nothing but empty shells, pawns to be used. Broken.

A moment later they were back on him and Howard lifted his arm, knife sinking into the inmate's gut.

Fresh blood flew over his hand and his fingers slipped. A punch met his face and whipped his head around, copper taste flooded his mouth. Distantly he heard a rumbling sound and shouting but he gave it no thought, couldn't since another madman swung a fucking pipe at him. Those hurt.

Howard shouted and tightened his grip on his knife again, twisting the blade and yanking it free, spilling the guts over the messy floor. The man in front of him snarled at him and Howard returned the gesture, showing his teeth and swiped his knife at another inmate. He crouched low when the air was suddenly filled with gunfire and voices.

One of them shouted Howard's name and he turned around.

A shield hit an approaching vigilant and blued eyes stared at Howard.

What a sight he must be, a distant, tiny part of his brain mused.

"Steve?" Howard mumbled uncomprehending and to his embarrassment he could feel tears leaking from his eyes, cutting clean lines into the filth and blood on his face. The Howling Commandos were there as well. He was safe. He was safe. He was safe.

Steve wrapped him up in his arms as Howard slumped to the ground and the Commandos took out the attackers. Howard clung to him, sobbing out a broken laugh.


End file.
